In a far province of China, there is a small village by a river in the shadow of the mountains. It is an unremarkable place (except perhaps for the size of the flowers which drop their petals into the small cold river), and far away from any remarkable place as well, so that few travelers ever stop there; and they are only the most hopelessly lost or those most restlessly searching for something they do not expect to find.
When such a man comes, he is invited (if he seems to be a good man) to drink tea at the house of a married couple with the village's finest tea pot. It is set before him as he sits on the floor, and he contemplates it as the husband brings water from the river and the wife starts a fire in a brazier. The tea pot is gently rounded, and was once bone white, but many pairs of tiny faces have been painted on it. They seem to peer at the traveler and judge him. A cup is set before him; it is delicate, and bears a painting of a great spreading tree covered with snow. The traveler wishes to hold it in his hands, but he is afraid it will break, so he waits as the couple, who might be young newlyweds or the oldest pair in the village, work in silence.
Water begins to boil in the small, dented copper kettle on the brazier. The hosts sit across from their guest, and tell him the following story:
In the beginning, the first man and woman lived together in a wild garden. They were not lonely, for they had each other, and all the animals to play with, and rocks and trees to climb; and the child of he who had made them all was there as well, and they loved to talk with him. The garden went for miles and miles; no matter how far they walked together, they found no end to the flowers and green grass and hills. One day they came upon the biggest tree they had ever seen, with bright red fruit and spreading branches. One said to the other, ``Let's climb to the top; we'll be able to see the whole world.''
The water boils, and they pour it ceremoniously over the tea leaves.
As they stood before the tree, an angel appeared. They were astonished, as they had never seen anything like it, except perhaps a swan, or a white stallion. It said, ``You may not climb this tree. Our creator forbids it. Anything else is allowed, but this tree is not for you,'' and flew suddenly into the sky.
The aroma of the tea reminds the traveler of spring days, of songs and sunlight.
The man and woman stood there, not knowing what to think. If they could not climb the tree, what else was there to do? On all sides, the garden glowed in green and brown, and all the colors of the flowers and animals and birds. Before them, the tree's leaves rustled. They might have stood there forever, but the creator's child found them. They asked him what they should do, and he said to them, ``You are free to do as you will. Climb the tree, if you want to.'' They looked at each other, and started to climb the tree, but the branches began to shake and they became afraid. Then the creator's child said to them, ``Come: I will hold the tree.'' He took the trunk in his strong hands, and set his feet in the earth, and the man and woman climbed the tree. At the top, they saw the garden stretching away forever; but beyond that, they saw a city, built of light or something purer than light.
They pour the tea into the cup they have set before the traveler. It is not green or black, like other Chinese teas, but red, red as rose petals.
Then suddenly the tree was gone, and their friend was gone, and the garden was gone. They were at the base of a range of mountains, and it was very cold. Before them stood the angel, terribly bright; it said to them, ``You are cast out, and though your children's children may one day return, you never will.'' Then it vanished, leaving them alone beside an icy stream; but before it left, it gave them a white teapot and four teacups, and taught them how to make tea.
They are silent. The traveler drinks. It is as if he could taste the smooth rocks in the mountain streams, the fertile earth of the river- bed, the flower petals floating past the village. He feels, for a time, at peace.
It is said in the village that if a man of the world, who has lived a full life, drinks a cup of tea from this pot without thinking an unpure thought, the cup will break; and when the cups are gone, and the teapot is covered with the faces of the couples who have passed it on from one generation to the next, it too will break, and the world will end, and mankind will return to the garden, or perhaps the city, or perhaps somewhere beyond both. In the meantime, the villagers do not invite travelers to come and test themselves, for they are happy by the river in the shadow of the mountains, making tea and telling each other stories by the fire, and are in no hurry for the world to end.